Fools Rush In
by BeyondTheSea13
Summary: Or, five times Hawke didn't say "I love you" and one time she did.


**A/N:** I don't know how I feel about this one, but I'm done fiddling with it, so here you go.

* * *

 **1\. Like a river flows**

There's blood flowing down her chin. That's what she notices. It tastes metallic in her mouth and she's so cold but she's sweating. She's smearing blood all over Aveline's freshly polished armor. Everything is dimming, her friends reduced to shadows around her, and she's choking to breath around the blood in her throat, but she's worried about Aveline's armor.

"I'm sorry," she tries to say, but it comes out as a gurgle.

"Don't try to speak." Aveline's voice is tight.

"Anders can fix this, right?"

She thinks it's Isabela speaking, but the voice swims through her head like she's underwater.

* * *

When Hawke drifts back to consciousness, her head is in someone's lap. Sweaty palms frame her face. A different person is clutching her hand. For the first time, she feels pain, and it _hurts_. It hurts more than the broken wrist Anders set after she was knocked off a boulder during a brawl with a group of raiders on the Wounded Coast and more than the deep gash on her shoulder Bethany clumsily healed in the hills near Lothering when they were children.

She grits her teeth and squeezes her eyes shut.

"She's awake." The frantic voice comes from near her hip. "Anders, she's feeling this. Do something."

"I'm already doing everything I can." Anders sounds calm, and it infuriates her that he can be so collected when she is suffering like this.

"Hawke, can you hear me?" The voice directly above her comes from Aveline. "It's alright to scream. Just let it out."

And she does. She shrieks and her cheeks are wet, and she only stops to breath. The hand squeezes hers harder. It would probably hurt if she could feel anything other than the stabbing agony in her stomach. She can hear someone else sobbing. More than one person.

"Please don't die, Hawke." A small, whispered voice from somewhere over her right shoulder. She thinks it's Merrill.

* * *

The first time she is truly conscious, she's in her bedroom. There are several layers of stiff bandages wrapped around her torso. The searing pain she remembers is now a potent ache that makes her grit her teeth and brings tears to her eyes. But it's tolerable. It doesn't make her wish she was dead.

Aveline stops by as the sun is setting outside the bedroom window.

"Bodhan sent word you were awake," she says. "It's good to see you."

"Bodhan said it's been six days," Hawke says.

Aveline nods. "Anders gave us some sort of herb to keep you asleep through the worst of the pain."

"It was bad?" Hawke asks.

Aveline's eyebrows shoot up. "Bad? You were impaled, Hawke. Through the important bits. You're lucky to be alive."

"I won though, right? I beat the Arishok?"

"Yes," Avelina answers. "Although, if that's your biggest concern, I worry about your priorities."

Hawke nods. "So Isabela is safe then? The Qunari didn't take her?"

Aveline's expression softens. "Isabela is fine. Last I saw her, she was drinking her life away in the Hanged Man, just like she does every Saturday. And Tuesday. And Thursday."

"Good," Hawke says. "I'm glad to hear some things haven't changed."

"She didn't seem interested in talking before," Aveline adds. "But I'll stop in tonight. She'll want to know you're awake."

Hawke nods again.

Aveline leans over and rests a hand gently on her shoulder. "Don't worry us like that again. Merrill was so beside herself I had to walk her home. And you should have seen Varric when he found out you'd been injured and no one called him."

"I'll try to value my life a little more in the future," Hawke replies. "It turns out almost dying really hurts."

"I'm glad you're alright," Aveline tells her. "My job has been rather boring without your unannounced visits and impromptu field trips out to the Wounded Coast to fight pirate raiders or giant spiders or…" She trails off, pauses. When she speaks again, her voice is fierce. "You're my best friend, Hawke. You're practically family. Don't you forget it."

She leaves without another word.

* * *

Hawke is awake for three days before Isabela visits.

"I was beginning to think you'd left me in my weakened state," Hawke jokes, but Isabela doesn't smile. She looks near tears.

"I wasn't sure you'd want to see me," she answers. "I wasn't sure if… if I wanted to see you."

Hawke nods. "I get it. No one likes visiting laid up friends. The stab wound puts a bit of a downer on everything."

"That's really what you think this was all about?" Isabela shakes her head. Hawke can see her swallow. "You made me come back. I could have been halfway to Antiva City with my relic by now, and instead I'm here. I was almost taken prisoner by the Qunari and you nearly died protecting me. This is exactly why I never stay in one place long enough to get attached. This is what happens when you care about people."

"But you weren't imprisoned by the Qunari and I'm not dead, Isabela," Hawke answers. "It all worked out in the end."

"It's not the end yet." Isabela shakes her head again. She's still standing at the foot of the bed like she might flee at any moment. "You shouldn't have done what you did." She sighs. "And neither should I."

"Isabela, who knows what the Qunari might have done to Kirkwall if you hadn't come back. They'd already torn through the docks and half of Lowtown." Hawke argues. "You probably saved hundreds of people. You're not telling me you regret that."

"I didn't do it for them," Isabela growls. "I did it for you. It was _always_ about you." She clenches her teeth and takes a breath. "That's the problem."

"Maybe you don't think it was worth it," Hawke says. "But we all have regrets. It's part of life. You can't honestly tell me that one of those regrets is caring about someone else. You came back, Isabela, because you're a better person than you pretend to be."

"It's just not who I am," Isabela replies. "You've always known that. You cared about people, and look what happened to you. Look at all the people you've lost. You can't blame me for not wanting that."

"Thanks for reminding me of all my failures," Hawke mutters. "That's just what I needed right now."

"That's not—" Isabela breaks off, frustrated. "Look, my being here obviously isn't helping anyone. I'll just go." She turns away and starts toward the door.

"Stop," Hawke calls, and Isabela does, but she does not turn around. "I'd do it again."

"I know," Isabela sighs. "That's the problem."

Later, when Aveline stops by to tell her that Isabela hasn't been seen in three days and her belongings have disappeared from her room at the Hanged Man, Hawke will wish she'd left things differently.

* * *

 **2\. Surely to the sea**

Hawke is alone when she wakes up. Her shoulders ache from Isabela's lumpy straw mattress, and it takes her a moment to realize where she is. It has been three years since she spent the night here.

It takes her a moment longer to realize why exactly she's here, to remember _I think I'm falling for you_.

But now Isabela is nowhere to be found, and Hawke is almost disappointed in herself for being surprised. She'd been so certain last night that things between them were changing. But nothing is ever certain with Isabela. Hawke has always known that.

She dresses slowly and descends the stairs of the Hanged Man, fully intending to have a drink alone, go back to her estate for a bath, and pretend, as Isabela surely will, that nothing has changed between them.

But Isabela is in the tavern, a beer in front of her, playing what Hawke can only assume is an extremely lax game of Wicked Grace with Varric and Merrill.

"Hawke!" Merrill calls when she spots her over Isabela's shoulder. "What are you doing here so early?"

So Hawke takes the empty chair beside Isabela as Merrill looks at her expectantly. "What, the Champion of Kirkwall can't stop in at the city's worst tavern for an early morning drink? You know I like my breakfast tasting of rat piss."

Merrill giggles, but Isabela covers Hawke's hand with hers, laces their fingers together. The action is hesitant in a way Isabela has never been while touching her. "She was with me."

Merrill's mouth falls open as her eyes flit back and forth between Hawke's face, Isabela's, and their joined hands. Hawke's is so tense that her knuckles are white.

Varric chuckles. "Well, I'll admit I'm surprised, but only because I never thought you'd actually seal the deal, Rivaini. A blind nug could see the two of you dancing around your feelings."

"Oh, that's so darling!" Merrill exclaims, her excitement apparent in her voice. "I knew you loved each other. Isn't it just beautiful. But then, who wouldn't love you? You're both so—"

"Slow down, Kitten," Isabela interrupts. "No one said anything about love."

"What Isabela is trying to say is that… this is all very new, and that word is a little more… serious than we are," Hawke explains. She glances at Isabela out of the corner of her eye. "We… enjoy each other."

Isabela quirks an eyebrow at her. "Enjoy? We've been _enjoying_ each other for years."

"We're just together." Hawke amends. She looks at Isabela for confirmation and she nods. "That's all it is."

* * *

They go back to Hawke's estate that night because they've spent the day clearing out a Carta hideout in Darktown and neither is looking forward to another night at the Hanged Man.

They're wrapped up in each other, Isabela half asleep against the crook of her neck, before Hawke says anything, and she doesn't really even expect a response.

"I thought you'd changed your mind."

Isabela sighs. Hawke can feel her breath on her shoulder. "What?"

"This morning, when I woke up and you weren't there," she continues. "I thought you'd… changed your mind. I thought you'd run."

"Are you saying you didn't trust me when I told you I wouldn't?" Isabela asks. "Hawke, I'm hurt."

"I woke up and you were gone," Hawke answers. "What was I supposed to think?"

"That I hadn't planned to spill my heart to you ahead of time and I had a pre-existing breakfast date with Merrill?"

"It just felt like…" Hawke sighs. "It felt like it did when I woke up after the invasion to Aveline telling me you'd left."

Isabela pulls away from her, just enough to look at her.

"I suppose…" she hesitates. "I supposed I have given you reason to believe that's something I would do."

"You didn't though," Hawke replies.

"No," Isabela agrees. "If you'd like reassurances, I suppose I could tell you that leaving now, when we're so close to…" She pauses. Hawke feels a gust of warm air as she sighs against her neck. "It would break my heart as much as it would break yours."

* * *

 **3\. Darling, so it goes**

Bethany arrives at the Hanged Man early on a chilly morning. The sun is just peaking over the Hightown rooftops when Hawke opens the door to Varric's messenger.

"Bethany's in Kirkwall," she announces as she returns to her bedroom. She is already untying her robe and reaching for an undershirt when Isabela yawns and rolls over to look at her.

"What?"

"Bethany's in Lowtown. At the Hanged Man."

"Bethany?" Isabela sits up abruptly and swings her legs over the side of the bed. "Our Bethany?"

"No, I'm falling over myself trying to put my pants on to go see the Bethany who apprentices with Olaf and whom I saw on my way to the Keep just yesterday."

"Ha ha," Isabela replies, but she's already out of bed, digging through the pile of clothes in front of the nightstand for her tunic.

Hawke last saw Bethany—really _saw_ her, not a rushed hello during combat while the city was burning—when she was nineteen, with wide eyes and a bright smile that instantly lifted the mood of any room she entered, and cheeks that flushed red at every one of Isabela's jokes.

Her sister is not that girl anymore.

At twenty-five, her mouth is a tight line, her voice is sharp, and she gives as good as she gets from Isabela. She sits with her shoulder tense across from Varric at a table in the corner of the tavern and doesn't meet Hawke's eye when she sits down. In leu of a greeting, she launches immediately into an explanation for why she is here, as if she has to justify it.

She can hold her liquor much better than she used to. Hawke and Isabela split a pitcher, but Bethany orders her own drinks, and she stays two ahead of them.

"I got Aveline's letter after the invasion," she tells Hawke after her fifth drink. "I was glad to hear you weren't dead."

Hawke clutches her chest dramatically. "Why, Sister, such meaningful words. I'm beyond flattered."

"I thought about writing you, but," she shrugs, "I didn't."

"I'm not sure how much Aveline told you," Hawke says, "but I was impaled. You could have sent a letter without making me think you still liked me." It comes out more bitter than she intended, and a flicker of guilt crosses Bethany's face.

And no matter how much it hurt that Bethany's letters stopped coming after their mother died, Bethany _should_ be mad at her.

So Hawke cocks a mischievous smile and leans toward her conspiratorially. "Hey, I still have a huge scar. Do you want to see it?"

She reaches to unbuckle her armor, but Isabela stops her with a hand on her own. When she speaks, her voice is soft and tight. "Don't."

Hawke's cheeks burn, but she twists her hand around to squeeze Isabela's.

"I'm going to get us another pitcher." She wraps her arms around Isabela's shoulders and presses a kiss to her temple as she stands up. "You want another, Beth? I think you're putting Fenris to shame. And all before lunch time."

* * *

Isabela insists on staying in her room at the Hanged Man that night.

"You two should have some time alone." She frames Hawke's face with her hands and kisses her. "I'll meet you bright and early to go to the mountains," she adds as Hawke wraps an arm around her waist to pull her in for one more.

"It's not just sex, then," Bethany comments when Isabela is gone. "I assumed it was when you arrived together this morning. That much seemed inevitable when I… when I left."

Hawke drops into the chair beside her. "It started out as that. It was that for a _long_ time. And when I say long, picture the entire length of the Wounded Coast."

"Or the length of a single thaig. It takes us months to clear them," Bethany adds, and it's like the Arishok's sword in Hawke's gut.

"How long was it, after I was gone?" Bethany asks.

"The sleeping together or the… rest?"

Bethany shrugs. "Either. Both."

"The sleeping together… about three years. A few months before Mother died. The rest of it is recent."

"Maker, you do like to drag your feet when it comes to making big decisions."

"The ones I'm not making in the split second before they need to be made, you mean."

"Those are exactly the ones I mean."

"Well, in my defense," Hawke holds up her palms, "I was not the one dragging. And there was that three-year interlude where she ran away to Maker only knows after the invasion."

"Speaking of," Bethany leans toward her. "I never did get to see that scar. Aveline mentioned it in her letter. She said it was absolutely horrifying."

"Aveline didn't lie," Hawke says. "Although it was much more gruesome when she saw it. You missed out, and it serves you right. Next time I'm grievously injured, pay me a visit for the good view."

She lifts her chest plate over her head and pulls up the left side of her tunic.

The scar runs from her hipbone up between her breasts. The skin is pink and puckered and there is a deep diamond-shaped white valley where the actual sword went through.

Bethany shakes her head, but she moves closer. "At least Mother never saw this. The shock might have been enough to kill her."

Hawke nods, and her smile vanishes.

"Isabela thinks it's ugly."

She didn't mean to say it. Bethany has her own problems, much bigger than this, and most of them are Hawke's fault. She does not need the burden of her elder sister's insecurities piled on.

Bethany looks up at her, her brow furrowed. "She told you that?"

"No," Hawke answers. She pauses, deciding how to explain. "But she won't… when we…" She shakes her head. "She won't touch it. She avoids looking at it. She thinks I don't notice."

"I find it difficult to believe that it's because she thinks it's ugly," Bethany answers. "I saw the way she watches you. There's not a part of you she doesn't like."

Hawke shrugs.

* * *

They get back from the Vimmark Mountains and Bethany leaves, just as sullen and surly as she was when she arrived.

"Our mother used to say she was lucky with Bethany because she never had a moody phase as a teenager," Hawke remarks to Isabela as they watch her go. "Little did she know, the capacity for it was always there… waiting."

"But _you_ were a moody teenager," Isabela reads into the statement. "I want to hear all about that."

Hawke smirks at her. "I'll never tell. You'll have to ask my dear sister next time we see her. She's become so forthcoming and cooperative over the years, don't you think?"

Isabela isn't smiling when she turns to look at her. "She told me what you said. That I thought your scar was ugly."

Hawkes looks away. She can feel her cheeks flush. "Last time I ever tell her anything. You'd think they'd teach Grey Wardens to keep secrets."

"Do you really think I would think something like that?" Isabela asks her, and she actually sounds hurt. "I _know_ I've never given you cause to."

"I know you don't like it," Hawke answers. "I've seen how you… avoid it."

"What kind of person would I have to be to look at a scar you got protecting me and see only what it looks like? Do you really think I'm that shallow?"

And suddenly Hawke understands. She is not the only one harboring crushing guilt.

She wraps her arms around Isabela right there in the door way and buries her face against her neck. She takes a deep breath and the exhale comes out as a sob.

"I didn't know you were self-conscious about it," Isabela says after a moment. "You're always so eager to show it off."

"When I can turn it into some big adventure story, it makes me feel less like I look like a rag doll someone clumsily sowed back together." She sniffles. "I thought you didn't like me showing it to people because you were embarrassed."

"No," Isabela answers quickly. "I could never be." She sighs. "I don't like you showing it off because… because I don't want people to know how badly I got you hurt."

"I got myself hurt," Hawke says, her voice muffled against Isabela's neck. "It wasn't your fault. I told you I would do it again, and that hasn't changed."

"I love every part of your body," Isabela continues, as though she didn't hear. "Excepting, of course, that birthmark shaped like a nug on your backside, and I'd even love that if it didn't have the otherworldly little feet. That includes your scar. I just don't love why you have it."

 _I love_ you, Hawke wants to say. It's a sudden urge that comes over her, that scares her because they're not ready. They've only been formally seeing each other for a few months. So she pushes is back, resolves to revisit it later.

She never does, of course, but tonight she will wrap her arms around Isabela and refuse to let go until they're both dead asleep, as if she could express her feelings just by holding her.

* * *

 **4\. Some things are meant to be**

They arrive back at Hawke's thankfully intact estate just as the sun is peaking over the horizon, sweating, breathless, and covered in someone else's blood. Isabela is limping on a freshly healed crushed femur.

Bethany collapses on the loveseat in the parlor and is asleep even before she hits the cushion. Hawke helps Isabela up the stairs and deposits her on the bed.

"Somehow, I expected healing magic to make me feel a little more… healed," she grumbles.

Hawke chuckles and presses a kiss to her forehead. "It wasn't a minor injury. It's going to take some time."

She needs a bath desperately, but she strips off her armor and crawls into bed beside Isabela anyway.

"I smell," Isabela mutters.

"Me too," Hawke says. "We'll take a bath tomorrow."

Isabela quirks a mischievous smile. "Well, I certainly look forward to that."

Hawke sighs contently as she nuzzles her forehead into the side of Isabela's neck. "Hopefully it will take my mind off my sister and Sebastian. That was repulsive, right? Until he stormed off, of course."

"Absolutely horrifying," Isabela agrees. "All that blushing and nervous glancing. Whatever happened to just throwing the other person in bed and shagging until the sun comes up?"

Hawke nods. "The way it should be done." She pauses. "Isabela?"

"Hm?"

"We're done."

Isabela turns her head toward her. "What are you talking about?"

"We're done," Hawke repeats. "No more Knight-Commander. No more First Enchanter. No more trying to hold this damned city together as it collapses. It's over."

Isabela runs her fingers absently through Hawke's hair. "Sweet thing, if you think this means things are going to calm down..." She nods toward the window, where they have a clear view of the chantry burning. "I'm sure _they_ would beg to differ. Aveline will be pounding on your door bright and early tomorrow morning, you mark my words."

Hawke groans. "Just let me pretend for a minute."

It's a moment of peace in a night of utter turmoil. They can still hear the chaos on the streets. The calls of people searching for their loved ones. The cries of those who have found them. And Isabela's hand resting on her hip. Her index finger drawing shapes on Isabela's shoulder.

Loving Isabela is easy, she has realized. It's like it comes naturally to her. It's the way Isabela arches into her when Hawke curls up behind her, or how she takes Hawke's hand when it's chilly outside but looks away when Hawke tries to meet her eyes, or how she ruffles Hawke's hair as she's getting dressed to go somewhere nice. It's there, and it's real, and it makes her feel at home in a house that's an empty shell of the life her mother once lived.

She still hasn't said it because this isn't what either of them signed up for and it scares her, but she's come to terms with it.

"Are you comfortable?" she asks as Isabela shifts her injured leg under the sheet.

Isabela nods sharply. "It's just stiff." But she can tell by Isabela's voice that she is in pain.

Hawke sits up. "Do you want me to get Bethany? Maybe she can take the edge off. Do you want a drink?"

"No, just come back here." She waves at the spot Hawke occupied beside her, and Hawke lets Isabela pull her back down against the pillows. "I once got into brawls on ships with no healers in residence and a day and a half from the nearest port. I'll be fine."

Hawke lays a kiss on Isabela's shoulder, and Isabela closes her eyes and smiles.

"Wake me up if you need anything," Hawke tells her. "I don't want you walking around on it too much."

"I'm too tired to think up a clever comment about playing doctor with you," Isabela murmurs.

"You can tell me in the morning," Hawke says. "While we're in the bath."

Isabela laughs. "You bet your pretty little ass I will."

* * *

 **5\. Take my hand**

"You have to go away."

Isabela is leaning against the doorframe when Hawke looks up. She didn't even hear her come home.

"There are rumors of an Exalted March. If my being gone can spare the city…"

"I know," Isabela answers. She crosses the room to sit beside her on the bed. "Sometimes I wish you weren't such a self-sacrificing fool."

"You like that about me," Hawke accuses, and Isabela smiles sadly.

"Despite my better judgment."

"Isabela?"

"Hm?"

Hawke hesitates. "Did you ever really _want_ to stay in Kirkwall?"

"As long as you're here," Isabela answers. "You know that." She furrows her brow. "What's this about?"

"What I'm saying is, when I go into hiding, there will be nothing keeping you here," Hawke points out. "You can finally set sail. I've seen all those wistful looks when we're on a job down by the docks. I know you miss it."

Isabela laughs bitterly. "It's not that simple. I don't have a ship or a crew or… anything."

"So we'll get you a ship," Hawke says. "I'll sell the estate—"

"I can't let you do that," Isabela interrupts.

"Why not? It's not like I'll be living in it," Hawke says. "And all the reasons I bought it are gone."

"Because it's where your mother lived," Isabela answers. "It's practically a family heirloom. And after all the trouble you went to to get it back?" She shakes her head. "I won't accept that."

"So I'll sell it to Varric," Hawke suggests. "He'd rent it out to me whenever I wanted. In the meantime, I bet he could turn a profit giving tours of _the Champion of Kirkwall's home, from which she mysteriously disappeared in the night_. And we'll use the money to buy to a ship and hire a crew."

Isabela raises her eyebrows. "And leave in the night?"

"That certainly would add to the drama," Hawke replies.

"Why would you do this for me?" Isabela asks. "I know you're always doing everything for everyone, but—"

"Because you've already given up so much for me," Hawke says. She leans and kisses her. "You came back for me during the invasion, even though it could have gotten you captured or killed. I let you stay in the city for me, even though I knew you'd rather leave. I'm only returning the favor."

"You nearly died because I returned during the invasion," Isabela points out. "Anything you ever owed me has long been paid in full."

Hawke smiles at her. "You really think that encounter would have been _less_ likely to turn violent if we hadn't returned the tome to the Qunari?"

Isabela hesitates. Chews on her bottom lip. "Hawke, how come you've never asked me to marry you?"

"What?" Hawke pulls back, her eyebrows raised in shock. "Umm… because I know you don't want to be married. Why would I ask when I know the answer? And where is this coming from?"

Isabela shrugs. "Because you do. I saw the way you looked at Aveline and Donnic during their wedding."

Hawke nudges her in the ribs. "You mean the wedding where you showed up after two years of no one hearing from you, avoided me the whole time, and then disappeared again?"

"Don't change the subject," Isabela says.

"Alright." Hawke sighs. "I suppose it's true that, when we lived in Lothering, it just didn't seem like it would ever be a possibility, and then we came here, and suddenly it was. And I'll admit that I find the idea interesting." She takes Isabela's hand, pulls it into her lap to play with her fingers. "But Isabela, I know you're not comfortable with marriage and I know why, and I knew those things when we got together. It's not something I'm willing to compromise on. If you're truly ready to think about it someday, we'll talk, but if not," she leans over to kiss Isabela's cheek, "it's okay."

"When we first got together… I thought maybe…" Isabela sighs. "I thought maybe my feelings for you were strong enough that I would get over it. That maybe the idea of being married to you wouldn't seem so much like being in a cage."

Hawke squeezes Isabela's hand with both of her own. "Love doesn't fix everything. It doesn't erase trauma."

"I know that _now_ ," Isabela says. "You've never thought about asking? Even to see if I'd say yes?"

Hawke shakes her head. "What would be the point? Even if you did, it wouldn't be because you wanted it. It would just be you making another sacrifice for our relationship. But you don't have to become some other person to keep me here." She wraps her arm around Isabela's shoulders. "I'm not going anywhere. You're the one I fell for. All of you. No caveats."

"It would have given you security," Isabela says. "All those years, you were so afraid I'd leave. You would have known I couldn't run."

"I'm supposed to want to marry you to keep you on a leash?" Hawke asks, eyebrows raised. "I have no interest in trapping you here, Isabela. If you wanted to leave it would… it would break my heart, but I'd want you to know you could. You deserve that freedom."

"You don't feel like you're missing out?" Isabela asks. "Like I'm holding you back?"

"You could never," Hawke answers firmly. "As long as we're together, I have everything I want. We don't need a ceremony at the Chantry and a piece of paper with the Viscount's seal to know how we feel about one another."

She pulls Isabela into tight hug, and it makes her want to cry. She cannot believe that fate is forcing them apart again.

"When do you leave?" Isabela asks. Her voice is as shaky as Hawke feels.

"Tomorrow, early," Hawke answers. "I need to get out of the city unseen. I'll leave you the deed to the estate. You can negotiate a price with Varric. Then go straight to the docks. I don't want you here any longer than you have to be. You're the one they'll come for when they realize I'm gone."

"We'll see each other soon," Isabela says resolutely. "This fiasco can't last forever."

"They never seem to," Hawke agrees. "I'm sure there will be some other catastrophe next month and everyone will forget all about this."

A watery chuckle ripples from Isabela's throat. "Without us here to hold things together, I'd say it's a sure thing."

"Hey," Hawke pulls away to look at her. "We can say our goodbyes tomorrow. We still have tonight."

Isabela kisses her, deep and long, until she is breathless. "Let's make the most of it."

* * *

 **6\. Take my whole life too**

The sun is just starting to set in Val Royeaux when Hawke hears the door creak open. The room is too dark to see anything but shadows, except the strip of light in front of the window where the setting sun illuminates the dust hanging in the air, but Hawke hears an abrupt scraping noise and a muttered "Shit."

"Leave it to you to find the only tavern in Val Royeaux that doesn't have a marble statue of a lion outside."

The shadow jumps back, and Hawke hears a clang as something metallic falls to the floor.

"Maker, Hawke," Isabela gasps. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to kill me."

Hawke climbs down from her perch on the rickety wooden table. She hears a drawer open, a rustling sound, and then Isabela lights a candle.

"What are you doing here?" she asks as she turns back around. "I got Varric's letter. He said you were going to Weisshaupt. How dare you take off again, by the way. That's supposed to be my move."

"I was passing through, and I heard _Siren's Call_ was going to be making port." Hawke shrugs. "I thought I'd stick around for a few days to see my favorite pirate. It's been a long time."

"It's been eight months, Hawke," Isabela informs her. "When you said you were going into hiding, I assumed it would involve a little less fighting archdemons and physically entering the Fade."

Hawke raises her eyebrows. "I'm sorry, are you saying that, after all these years of fighting demons and raiders blood mages and hoping for the best, you suddenly expect me to stop putting myself in danger?"

Isabela scoffs. "I course not. I just expect you to bring me along. Can't let you have all the fun."

"Maker, I'm glad to see you," Hawke breathes. She takes a brisk step forward, traps Isabela against the wall. It's easy to forget about Corypheus and the templars and Alistair's sacrifice with Isabela's thighs around her waist and tongue in her mouth. She wishes they could stay like this forever.

The sex is rushed after months apart and uncomfortable on Isabela's tavern bed. It reminds Hawke of the nights they spent at the Hanged Man when they were too drunk to walk back to her estate in Hightown, except that now Hawke is sober enough to feel the mattress digging into her back and old enough that her knees ache as she braces herself over Isabela.

Afterward, Isabela drops her hand onto Hawke's thigh as they lay panting beside each other. "I've missed you."

Hawke rolls toward her, skims her lips along the corner of Isabela's. "I almost forgot how amazing this feels."

Isabela snickers. "What, sex? I wouldn't tell that to Varric. He'd never let you hear the end of it. The Tale of the Champion, Part Two: Cobwebs."

"I doubt you'd let me hear the end of it either," Hawke replies. "But that's not what I meant." She touches her lips to Isabela's again. "I almost forgot how amazing it feels kissing you."

Isabela pushes at her shoulder. "Don't tell me you're going soft on me. I swear, if you come back unable to pull the rings of a dead man's fingers—"

"You'll what?" Hawke asks. "Break up with me?"

The smirk drops off Isabela's face. "Of course not. Don't even joke about that."

Hawke shifts her weight to one elbow and threads her fingers into Isabela's hair, runs her thumb across her cheek. She bites her lips and slowly takes a breath.

"You know I love you, right?"

Isabela smiles at her, gently this time. "Oh Hawke, I've known that since you took a sword through the stomach for me all those years ago." She runs her fingers over the scar along the left side of Hawke's back. It matches the one on her stomach in its stretched, rippled skin and the deep valley where the Arishok's sword when through. Isabela doesn't touch it like she is afraid of it anymore. "I was beginning to think you'd never say it."

Hawke sighs and flops back onto her back. "For a long time, I wasn't ready, and then I didn't want to scare you off. But I thought you should hear it. I don't think I'd ever forgive myself if something happened and you never heard it. Not in this life or anything that comes after it."

"You sound like we're never going to see each other again."

There is a moment of silence as Isabela waits for Hawke to wave it off, but she doesn't. She can hear the sheets rustle as Isabela sits up beside her.

"Tell me you're not about to go off on some suicide mission and this is you saying goodbye."

"No," Hawke answers. "What Varric said was true. I'm going to Weisshaupt to inform the Wardens about Alistair. He was the highest ranked on this side of Thedas, other than the Hero of Fereldan, of course, but she's off on her own doing Maker knows what."

"Then…" Isabela pauses. "What's going on?"

Hawke turns away from her, stares out the tiny window. The sun has vanished and she can see the twinkling lights of Val Royeaux. "We don't have to talk about it. I know you're not good with feelings."

She can hear herself saying those exact same words to Isabela years ago, but that feels like another life. Another incarnation of herself that, even after holding her mother's mutilated body in her arms as she breathed her last breath, still thought she could change things for the better.

Isabela smooths the hair across her forehead. "We both know you've been my exception to that rule for years."

"When we were in the Fade, we were confronted… taunted really… by a Nightmare. It tried to torment each of us with our worst fear."

"So you were covered in spiders," Isabela says, and Hawke can hear the gentle smile in her voice.

"Well, yes and no," she answers. "There were spiders, but that wasn't really the nightmare."

"Well, go on. I'm at the edge of my seat."

"It told me…" Hawke sighs. "It told me that you were going to die."

She can hear Isabela's harsh intake a breath, and then, after a moment. "Your worst fear… is my death." She says it slowly, like she is tasting the words as they pass through her mouth.

"This can't be coming as a surprise," Hawke mutters. "You're all I have left."

"You have a sister," Isabela reminds her. "Bethany isn't dead, you know. You took great care to ensure that."

"Bethany and I see each other once every few years. Our relationship consists of me writing her letters and wondering if they ever reach her or if I'm just talking to myself," Hawke says. "I love my sister, but we haven't really had each other since I took her into the Deep Roads."

"You can't still be blaming yourself for that," Isabela says. "It wasn't your fault."

Hawke scoffs. "Just like what happened in Kirkwall wasn't my fault."

"How many times did you save Kirkwall before it fell apart," Isabela asks. "You singlehandedly drove out the Qunari invasion."

"I didn't do that for Kirkwall," Hawke grumbles. "I did it for you. And instead I got a title and the weight of a crumbling city on my shoulders."

"Don't let Aveline hear you say that."

"I'm sure Aveline won't mind me taking all the credit for failing to stop a war."

Isabela rolls her eyes. "You're so dramatic."

"Just don't go off and get yourself killed, Isabela," Hawke says. "Not after everything we went through. Not when we're so close to being together again. I don't think I could bear it."

"I should be the one saying that to you," Isabela admonishes. "I can't seem to keep you away from things that want to kill you. I know you feel responsible for… the state of things, but if you go and sacrifice yourself for some noble ideal, I swear I'll find a way to bring you back just so you can watch me cry over you."

Hawke chuckles. "Neither of us will die before we can be together again. We'll swear to it." She turns over, so they are facing each other again. "Where are you going after this?" she asks as Isabela lays back down beside her.

"I was going to go back to Denerim," Isabela answers. "I have an old score to settle at the Pearl. And then, I don't know. Maybe Rivain. I swore to myself I would never go back there, but your sister has been enticing me with tales of drunken debauchery and _women_ of all things."

"Gives her a chance to get over Sebastian at least," Hawke grumbles. "Attacking Kirkwall over the acts of one man? Talk about a false sense of nobility. I never should have encouraged him to reclaim his lands."

"Fear you not," Isabela says. "I swear that in your absence, I will take it upon myself to ensure she ends up with someone far less scrupulous than our erstwhile choir boy."

"Such a relief," Hawke replies. "It would be a shame if one of us was respectable enough to honor the Noble House Amell."

"I'll tell you what," Isabela says. "You do what you need to do in Weisshaupt and I'll pay my visit to Rivain, and then we'll meet in Minrathous and sail off into the sunset together."

"You almost sound like you've been reading to many of Varric's romance novels," Hawke comments.

Isabela chuckles and tucks her head into the crook of Hawke's neck. "Don't be silly, sweet thing. Varric's books lack anything approaching this level of grand romance."

Hawke wraps her arm around Isabela's shoulders and squeezes. "I can't wait."

Isabela kisses her shoulder. It's a gesture that feels almost uncharacteristically intimate. "I never thought I would care for someone the way I care for you. Enough to call it love. It used to terrify me." She sighs. "Sometimes it still does."

"Well, you're hardly living if you're not a little terrified all the time," Hawke answers.


End file.
